


the black-ops syndicate

by skai_heda



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The 100 (TV)
Genre: BAMF Clarke Griffin, Betrayal, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Hydra (Marvel), Inhumans (Marvel), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spy AU!, Swearing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, bellamy blake is an asshole at first but we been knew kids, lincoln campbell is an angry sweetheart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-16 10:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skai_heda/pseuds/skai_heda
Summary: "Fine, then," Clarke says sullenly. Phil can't help but smile a little to himself. "So you want me to bring Bellamy Blake into SHIELD custody for doing a little research on what happened to his sister?""Clarke, I think you're missing the point here," Phil says softly. "You realize Octavia Blake is leading the Inhuman division with Daisy, right?"Clarke smiles softly, and he sees a shadow of Jake Griffin, moments before he was murdered. "You want Bellamy Blake on the team."Phil barely keeps himself from grinning this time. "That's classified. Get it done, Agent Griffin."canon divergence after 3x12 of AoS - Agents of SHIELD/The 100 crossover that literally no one wants but like whateverno prior knowledge of AoS required





	1. the newest addition

**Author's Note:**

> yes i'm aware i should be updating arkadian rain but this au has been on my mind for like a year so yeet

Phil Coulson likes to think of himself as a patient man.

Sure, he's curious, firm, and authoritative, as all directors should be, but he's patient. He's patient even when the young agent sitting opposite him looks like her head is going to explode.

"Coulson, please," Clarke Griffin says, tilting her head. "Simmons and Lincoln need me with their Inhuman biology report—"

"Already done," Phil says. 

Clarke, to her credit, doesn't look taken aback by the evident failure of her excuse. "Bobbi and Hunter are in _Siberia,_ going after _Gideon Malick_.I need—"

"May, Daisy, and Mack are already going."

"So let me go with them!" Clarke implores. "Sir, this assignment is not useful."

"As a matter of fact, it is," Phil assures her. "Bellamy Blake isn't an idiot, that's for sure. He'll know the truth soon enough. I want you to get to him before he does."

She glares furiously at his desk for a minute before her shoulders slump uncharacteristically. 

"Fine, then," Clarke says sullenly. Phil can't help but smile a little to himself. "So you want me to bring Bellamy Blake into SHIELD custody for doing a little research on what happened to his sister?"

"Clarke, I think you're missing the point here," Phil says softly. "You realize Octavia Blake is leading the Inhuman division with Daisy, right?"

Clarke smiles softly, and he sees a shadow of Jake Griffin, moments before he was murdered. "You want Bellamy Blake on the team."

Phil barely keeps himself from grinning this time. "That's classified. Get it done, Agent Griffin."

* * *

Bellamy really wasn't expecting to get kidnapped today. 

He's fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket with one hand and clutching Octavia's bracelet with another as he watches the sun start to descend towards the glimmering expanse of the Pacific, the pathway of sunlight reflected on the water a blinding white-gold.

He can't recall the number of times he's been here with Octavia before Mom died, but he can remember how much she loved it. He can remember how hours in the sun brought some color to her pale cheeks. She was never going to leave Los Angeles, she'd tell him. 

_I'll find her, _Bellamy assures himself. 

It's been almost three years since his mom was killed in gunfight. Wrong place, wrong time. He was barely eighteen, and Octavia was sixteen. His main concern had been protecting her, keeping her close and safe, and that worked out well until Octavia decided to investigate why her mother was really killed.

He remembers the night vividly—he remembers the yelling, he remembers Octavia walking out the door of their small apartment, and he also remembers that she never back through that door again.

Three years. Law enforcement had nothing to say.

But Octavia was alive. She _had _to be.

Bellamy opens the door of his car and steps out into the salty sea air. The sky has darkened, and he can see clouds in the distance, way up north. The air smells and tastes metallic—an oncoming storm.

He withdraws his phone and looks at the most recent picture for what may be the billionth time. The sharp silhouette of an eagle against a black background, the symbol he sees every time he closes his eyes. Enough digging led him to a connection between Octavia's disappearance and SHIELD. But the problem? SHIELD was a terrorist organization. It had been declared so by the US government ever since the discovery was made that it was really being controlled Hydra, a Nazi-fascist group.

_"SHIELD, Hydra," _the president had said in one of his most famous broadcasts. _"There's no difference."_

In his mild daze, he almost doesn't notice the footsteps. 

Almost.

Bellamy turns to face the stranger, and his eyes narrow. She's exceedingly, annoyingly attractive—a mildly stocky woman of his own age stands before him, her golden hair tumbling down around her shoulders and waving slightly in the ocean breeze. Her eyes are bluer than the water around the Santa Monica pier, boring straight into his own. But really, it's not her beauty that's so obvious about her—her slightly rounded, rosy cheeks contributes to the aura of health that surrounds her. She looks nurtured, cared for, and Bellamy hates it. 

"Bellamy Blake," she says to him, and where he expected her voice to be high pitched and feminine, it's low and slightly husky, and the sound of her saying his name is rattling around his brain like a rogue pinball.

"That's me," he says, and he watches her run her gaze over him. He's used to women doing that—he knows he's not unattractive, that's for sure—but there's something different in the way the girl looks at him. She looks at him like she's analyzing every aspect of him, counting strengths and weaknesses.

_Oh, god, she's not a robot, is she?_

When she's finished with her odd observation, she steps even closer, pulling a badge out of the inside of her denim jacket. "Monica Walker, LAPD. I'm gonna need you to come with me."

"Look, Monica, it's been a pleasure meeting you, but I've got no business with the LAPD for today," Bellamy smirks, slowly walking backwards. 

"You really think I'll just leave?" Monica says, flashing her own smirk. "Okay. I don't want to fight you. I just need you to come with me."

"Normally, police explain why," Bellamy says, and his eyes land on the sleeve of her jacket. There, on the inside of it, is that logo.

The eagle.

Monica evidently notices where his gaze has gone, and she crosses her arms. "Police don't always have to."

"Except, you're not LAPD, are you?" Bellamy breathes. His heart is pounding in his ears. "You're SHIELD."

Monica freezes for a moment before sighing dejectedly and tapping something below her left ear. "Fitz? I need an extraction—"

She doesn't finish her sentence, for Bellamy lunges at her, temporarily knocking the wind out of her. But Walker over here is apparently a lot stronger than Bellamy thought she was. She recovers from the attack quickly and sends her fist swinging hard into his jaw, and he stumbles back, temporarily stunned. He tries to run at her again but she leaps onto him, sending them rolling into the sand. Bellamy's glad that he's parked in a more empty segment of the beach—he can't imagine what people would think if they saw this.

"See, I really tried to be nice to you," Monica says sullenly, lying on top of him, her golden hair shining in the waning sunlight. "Man, Coulson's gonna kill me—"

Bellamy grunts and rolls so she's pinned below him. 

"Who are you?" he demands. "And how do you know who I am?"

She smiles, and his mind goes momentarily blank. Blank enough for him to be thrown off by the knee hitting him square in the stomach. Monica punches him again, and he feels his skin split. Upon further notice, he sees a ring on her fingers.

_That's not fair at all._

"Quinjet, do you copy?" she says to empty air. She pauses a moment before nodding. Bellamy grabs her legs and sends her hurtling towards the ground, but when he tries to get up, Monica has him back on the ground with a series of powerful kicks to his chest and several more punches to his face.

"Go to hell," he says, spitting sand and blood out of his mouth.

"Huh," she says with a bored sort of interest as she withdraws a syringe from her pocket and shoves it unceremoniously into his neck. "You are not as nice as your sister said you were."

All Bellamy can do is gasp before everything goes dark.

* * *

"He was being _uncooperative—"_

"That doesn't mean you beat him to a pulp!"

Clarke glares at the limp body of Bellamy Blake, tied to the chair. His eyes flutter open with some difficulty, and even with the bruises and cuts dotting his face, her heart beats a little faster at the sight of him.

He's a problem. An attractive problem, which makes him even more of a problem.

He glares at her for a second before trying to get up, and when he realizes that he's been restrained, that sends him into even more of a frenzy, his inky black curls dancing across his forehead.

"Okay, okay," Clarke sighs, walking forward, making him stop moving immediately. "How about you calm down?"

Bellamy scoffs, looking at her through long lashes. "You tell me, Monica. How would you feel if you got kidnapped by a terrorist organization?"

"Monica?" Coulson says from behind her. Clarke can hear the smile in his voice and resists the urge to roll her eyes. "I wasn't really thinking when I asked Fitz to make the badge." She turns back to Bellamy. "As for you, SHIELD isn't a terrorist organization. That would be Hydra."

The name is evidently familiar to him, judging by the odd flash of emotion in his eyes. "What's the difference?"

Clarke glances back at Coulson, who's smiling in that infuriatingly calm demeanor of his. _You handle it._

She sighs through her nose. "Bellamy, we know you want answers. And the only way you'll get them is if you join us."

He laughs then, a rich, warm sound that sends heat spiraling from Clarke's face to everywhere else in her body. "Join you? That's ridiculous—"

"Not that ridiculous," a familiar voice says from behind Clarke, and she watches Bellamy's face go through at least ten expressions in the next three seconds. When he speaks, his voice is strained. 

"Octavia?"

* * *

**one day later**

* * *

"It's gone international," Octavia says, putting her head in her hands. "And we _still _haven't caught Malick."

"And we're on a shortage of agents," Daisy says quietly. "Two of our best."

"There's no use in mourning their loss," Coulson says sharply. "Our top problem is—"

"The Watchdogs," Daisy fills in.

"Right," he says. "I was hoping we wouldn't have to worry about Inhuman terrorist groups, but there was no hope in that. Mack is already in Indiana, and I want Daisy and Fitz running point on the case."

"I want to go, too," Clarke blurts, and ignores the sharp look Melinda May shoots her way. She's scared enough of the woman already.

"Actually," Coulson says, and she watches the way he glances at Bellamy, who's leaning against the pillar in the corner. "You're going to start training Bellamy. You're his SO."

"His what?" Bellamy coughs out.

"Supervising officer," Clarke mutters. "I have to get you accustomed to SHIELD traditions, I guess."

"Octavia can do that," Bellamy snaps.

"Octavia is unavailable," Coulson sighs. "Seeing as Daisy is already busy with something else, Octavia is still training the Inhuman division."

"Sorry," Bellamy says, pushing off the wall. _"Inhuman?"_

Clarke wishes there was some easy way to tell him the truth—how Octavia was subjected to Terrigenesis by Daisy's villainous mother in an attempt to kill her, but instead revealing how Octavia had a dormant alien gene—her new powers, her new status as _Inhuman._

"Octavia is special," Clarke says softly, making a mental note to explain it to Bellamy later. "And she's helping others."

Bellamy glares at her with that strange expression of his, a storm brewing clearly in his eyes, his jaw and shoulders set with the intention of making trouble. But he doesn't ask any more questions.

"Well that settles it," Coulson says, smiling. "Clarke, Bellamy?"

Clarke jerks her head in the general direction of the training room, and doesn't look back to see if Bellamy follows her.


	2. the senator's daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Daisy, Fitz, and Mack investigate a new threat, Bellamy and Clarke embark on a rocky relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeeeeeeeeeeee!

"So, as my SO, are you going to tell me anything about yourself?"

"Like what?" Clarke asks, stretching her muscles. She's decided to get Bellamy started on the physical side of things, mainly because she wants to blow off some steam.

"Like your name, maybe," Bellamy sighs, crossing his arms. 

She rolls her eyes. "You know that already."

"I know it's not Monica Walker," Bellamy grumbles, halfheartedly aiming a punch at a nearby bag.

"It's Clarke."

"Well, I know _that," _he snarls.

"Okay, so you _do _know my name," Clarke bites back, cracking her knuckles in what she hopes is a threatening way.

"Oh, please," he scoffs. "I don't know if that's your first name or your last name or your middle name or some spy code name—"

"First name," she sighs. She realizes that maybe she shouldn't be so impatient with him, but she also sees a small opportunity for her own fun. "Clarke Griffin," she declares, holding out her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Bellamy stares at her outstretched palm for a minute before reaching out and shaking it. But Clarke knows he shouldn't have—she yanks his arm down and sends him hurtling towards the floor with a flick of her wrist. 

"Oh," he says softly from where he lies on the floor. "You're—you're—"

"I'm what?" Clarke asks, motioning for him to get up.

He gingerly gets to his feet, shaking his arms. There's a new expression in his eyes now, violent and slightly feral. He throws an experimental punch at her, his knuckles grazing her jaw. When he tries again, Clarke meets his arm with her own, shoving him back and kicking him in the chest. His body is firm against her foot, and he only moves a little.

_So he's strong, _Clarke notes. _He just needs to learn how to use that._

And, it turns out that he's fast, almost as fast as Clarke herself. She's even making more of an effort after a few minutes pass, but it still ends with Bellamy lying on his stomach on the floor, too exhausted to get up.

"You're the Senator's daughter," he says quietly, not taking the hand Clarke offers him. "Senator Abby Griffin."

Clarke recoils, from the name, from the memory. 

"So," he gasps, rolling over to face her. "You're like some sort of princess, aren't you?"

"It doesn't matter," she says in her coldest tone, withdrawing her hand. "As far as the world knows, I'm dead."

"Died a few years ago in a car crash," Bellamy murmurs, his voice ebbing its way into every corner of her brain. "Right around when SHIELD was declared a terrorist organization."

"Who I am doesn't matter," Clarke snaps, pulling her hair out of its braid. "You gonna get up or what?"

"We're not done?" he asks weakly.

"Are you kidding? That was just the beginning," she sighs. "That's how I assess your strengths and weaknesses. Think of it as a pretest."

Bellamy groans and gets to his feet, massaging the back of his head. "So. What are my strengths and weaknesses then, Princess?"

Clarke glares at him, deciding to let the name go this time, though she can't help remember the last person who called her that—

"You're strong," she says clearing her throat before she reaches out to tap his chest. "If you know how, you'll be able to overpower a lot of people in a fight."

"Even you?" he asks, and Clarke gets the odd feeling that he isn't joking.

"I wouldn't go that far," she says. "And I wouldn't try either."

"Right," he mutters. "And weaknesses?"

Clarke points at the left side of his body. "Completely unguarded, very slightly unbalanced. You broke something on the left side of your body a while ago, and it was either a pretty bad break or it didn't receive proper treatment."

Bellamy stares at her with something akin to awe before nodding. "My leg. Six years ago. I was fourteen."

Clarke waits a full second before she bursts out laughing, clutching her stomach. He huffs. "What's so funny?"

"Your balance is fine," she says with a grin. "I only know about that because I had to look at all records concerning you in order to find you in the first place. Los Angeles Community Hospital was where you went."

"That is not funny at all," Bellamy points out. "That's _stalking."_

"Spy's way of life," Clarke says softly. "I didn't really want to, you know. I'd rather be doing other things than training you."

He looks completely taken aback by her honesty, and seems to have nothing to say to that. After a moment of silence, Clarke sighs, taking a swig of her water bottle before directing Bellamy to a punching bag. "We'll just start with the basics, alright?"

* * *

They're just finishing up their training when Simmons rushes into the room.

"Clarke," she says, her shoulders shaking. "We need you."

"What is it?" Clarke asks.

"We think—I think the vaccine is ready."

Clarke swallows and nods, glancing at Bellamy, who doesn't appear to be paying much attention. She taps him gently on the shoulder, and is greeted by his seemingly permanent smirk. 

"Let me show Bellamy to his room first," Clarke says to Simmons while still looking at Bellamy. "And then I'll be there."

"I'm sure I can find it with someone else's help," Bellamy says. "It seems like she really needs you."

Clarke narrows her eyes. "You sure?"

Bellamy just smiles before walking out of the training room.

* * *

"Yeah, Joey. That won't be a problem," Octavia Blake says, smiling. "Yeah. Uh-huh. Yeah, Joey, I'll—"

What she sees when she looks up makes her stop midsentence. A face familiar to her as her own, a face she thought she'd never see again.

"Joey, I gotta go," she says to the phone. "We'll talk later."

She hangs up and tucks the phone into her pocket. _"Bellamy?"_

Her big brother smiles ruefully at her, though his eyes betray more emotion. He strides over to her and hugs her tight. "You're—you're so big," he chokes out. "God, Octavia, I thought—"

"Bellamy, why are you here?" she asks, pushing him away. "You—"

"I've been looking for you," he says simply, and Octavia has to fight the urge to run away.

_You don't know who I am._

A little less than three years ago, Octavia went to find the people responsible for her mom's death. And she got her answer—_Hydra._

And then Phil Coulson found her, and then suddenly—she was an agent of SHIELD.

Well, it wasn't quite so sudden. There were missions, and secret cities, and then Skye, _Daisy's _mother had tried to kill her using a crystal that would only negatively affect humans.

And she thought she was dead for sure, but she wasn't.

They said there was a dormant _alien _gene within her, activated by the Terrigen crystal, as they called it. And that gave her powers. Despite all that had happened, that never changed. And so, Skye was now Daisy Johnson and a powered, seasoned agent, and her? Well, Octavia was getting there. 

Her powers were too much, it seemed. Sometimes, Octavia could barely keep a grip on it—the power itself felt like a living thing pulsing through her veins, and it made her feel a bit like she'd explode—

"Bellamy," she breathes. "You shouldn't be here."

"O, I spent almost _three _years trying to find you. I thought you were _dead!"_

"I wasn't," she says softly. 

There's an uncomfortable silence, before Bellamy shuffles closer. "Mom?"

"Hydra," Octavia says tersely.

A weird shadow passes over Bellamy's face, but she ignores it. For the first time in a long time, she wants nothing more than to be far away from him.

She tries to reach out somewhere, maybe the lab. An empty vial, a beaker.

The familiar sensation tears through her body as a shattering sound explodes to life in the lab.

"I should go help with that," Octavia says softly, before leaving her brother staring blankly at where she had been standing before.

* * *

**the following morning**

* * *

"Here. It's for you," Fitz says, handing Clarke a box. He then motions for her to place her palms on a flat screen.

Clarke carefully opens the box. She can vaguely sense Daisy and May and Coulson yelling in the background, something about a man named Charles Hinton, and the future.

Within the box, she finds a familiar set of sleek, metal batons.

"Fitz, these are—" she starts.

"Bobbi's, yeah," he says, a twinge of regret in his voice. Bobbi Morse had been a friend to all of them, but Clarke had been especially close to her—Bobbi was like the older sister she never had but always wanted. But unfortunate circumstances in her mission in Siberia to chase down one of the last heads of Hydra, Gideon Malick, had led to her and agent Lance Hunter having to leave SHIELD. "Bobbi taught you how to fight with the batons, right?"

"She did," Clarke says softly, "but—"

"These batons are now biologically locked to you now," Fitz says with a sad smile. "Bobbi would want you to have them."

"Right," she murmurs, leaning over to touch Fitz gently on the shoulder. She feels a wave of affection for Fitz in that moment, his steady, assuring presence. "I should get going. I still have to train Bellamy."

"And I still have to argue about the properties of time," the scientist says exasperatedly, his Scottish lilt thickening for a second. "Go. He's _lurking _in the doorway."

Clarke turns around and meets Bellamy's gaze, surveys the way he leans against the door with his arms crossed.

"You ready?" she calls, getting to her feet, the batons in her hands.

"If by ready you mean ready to get the shit beaten out of me by those metal rods, then no," he says sullenly, and Clarke scoffs. She only shoves him forward.

* * *

"It's not going to be a very straightforward training schedule," she explains. "Except for the physical portion. But other than that, you just need to know what's been going on. If SHIELD was still a thing, you'd be sent to the Academy, tested at the Cocoon, but, well..."

She trails off, observing Bellamy's blank expression.

"Never mind," she sighs, twirling the batons. She doesn't miss the way Bellamy becomes more alert, as if he expects her to attack him right there in the training room.

_Maybe I will. _

"So is it story time, then?" he asks, and the mocking tone in his voice makes Clarke want to punch him in the teeth.

"There was a team," she says, ignoring his comment. "Phil Coulson was leading it. He chose Fitz and Simmons (our top scientists), Daisy Johnson, Melinda May, and—and Grant Ward to be part of a mobile SHIELD unit."

"What's up with Grant Ward?" Bellamy asks.

"He's dead," Clarke says shortly. "He was Hydra. But we killed him."

_Not before he killed others. Not before he killed Wells._

"Anyways," she continues, hoping her voice isn't shaking. "He and his SO orchestrated the fall of SHIELD. Turns out it was just a band of Hydra goons. But Coulson, he became the new director of SHIELD, and continued to operate it in the shadows. We've got government approval now, but we still aren't going public. You know, when we were searching for Daisy's dad, we found your sister. And Daisy's mom was alive, too, but she turned out to be evil, so then she tried to kill Octavia when we sent her out on a field mission. But, well—"

She stops talking and stares at the faintly nauseated expression on Bellamy's face. "Well, I'm sure she'll tell you. Meanwhile, Grant Ward was still at it, trying to rebuild a stronger Hydra, but Coulson got him in the end."

_Wells. Wells._

"So now, we're after Gideon Malick," Clarke continues. "He's one of the last known heads of Hydra, and he's determined to kill all Inhumans. People with special abilities due to an activation of a dormant alien gene in their bodies."

"Princess," Bellamy says, but his voice is surprisingly severe despite the condescending nickname. "Is—is my sister one of them?"

Clarke almost pities him in that moment. "That isn't a conversation you want to have with me."

He huffs. "So she _is."_

"Just let it go, Bellamy," she says sharply.

His eyes narrow. "I don't have to listen to you—"

"Actually," Clarke hisses, grabbing his wrist with the hand that isn't holding the batons. "You do. You wanted to find your sister, and now you're an agent, whether you like it or not. And that means you have to follow a certain set of rules."

"I didn't have a choice!" he snaps, yanking his hand back. "I just wanted to find my sister and be done with it!"

"Did she want to be found, though?" she asks quietly.

Bellamy laughs mirthlessly. "You know what, Princess. Fuck you. You have no idea what I went through, what we went through. Because your life was, _is _perfect."

"You're not the only one who didn't have a choice, okay?" Clarke spits, and she hates that Bellamy makes her lose control of her emotions like this.

"Ohh, okay, let me guess," he says mockingly. "A life of privilege was too _boring _for you, so you decided that you wanted to fake your own death and start to live like secret warrior princess even though you probably can't possibly save a life—"

Even though Bellamy knows nothing about her, these words are like needles shooting into her skin, and names bubble to the tip of her tongue, Dad and Wells and Finn and Lexa—

Clarke doesn't know why or how, but her fist is flying into Bellamy's chin, maybe the fiftieth bruise she's given him in the past two days.

"Don't act like you know who I am," she says, trying to keep her voice even. "And don't ever say my life is perfect."

"They're all lying to you," Bellamy continues, massaging the underside of his chin, his eyes glittering darkly. "I think you've got it all, but you—"

Clarke grabs the collar of his shirt and is just about to say something else when she hears her name being called, distantly, as if from the other end of a tunnel.

She slowly turns her head to see Coulson, not looking angry, just frustratingly impassive.

"I'd let go of him if I were you," Coulson says softly, and she does, releasing Bellamy with a small exhale. "Bellamy, you go down to the lab, see if you can be of any use. Clarke, my office."

"Coulson—" she starts.

_"Don't argue."_

Clarke steps away from Bellamy, hands trembling. 

_You don't know who I am, _she thinks, as she forces herself to walk away. _You have no clue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys please comment im desperate


	3. the theory of now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy gets a horrifying glimpse into the future, while Clarke continues her struggle to adjust to Bellamy's presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this is a bruh moment

Clarke stands in the corner of the office, crossing her arms.

"Sit down," Coulson requests, leaning against his desk.

"Sir—"

"Please?"

She sighs and takes a seat, staring determinedly at the ax hanging on the wall, the one Mack used to cut Coulson's hand off after he made contact with a Terrigen crystal.

"Clarke," he starts, flexing the fingers on his prosthetic hand. "You have to keep your cool around him."

"Coulson, I have no clue why you're so keen on Bellamy Blake being an agent. He's the least qualified person to ever be an agent—"

"That's what we thought about Lincoln," Coulson murmurs. "Campbell. Not Trikru." _As if he had to specify. _

"Bellamy doesn't care about the cause!" Clarke groans. "He's only here for Octavia. And it's not like how Lincoln Campbell is here for Daisy. At least he's _willing _to be an agent, _willing _to protect the ideal that we're trying to uphold—"

"He really does get under your skin, does he?" he asks, almost sympathetically.

Clarke swallows, glaring at her shoes. "No one gets under my skin, Coulson."

"Except Bellamy Blake," Coulson says, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

"He acts like he knows what everyone feels," she murmurs. "He acts like we've got it all easy."

"He knows who you are, doesn't he?"

"I'm the one who told him, to be honest."

Coulson sighs softly, causing Clarke to look up.

"You know what I want, Clarke?" he asks. "I want you to be Director."

Her eyes almost pop out of her head. "What?"

He laughs softly. "Not now. But one day."

Clarke splutters. "Why me?"

Coulson pushes off the desk and starts to pace. "Do you remember when you joined?"

She nods. "Yes."

_(Jake Griffin. Dead by her mother's hand._

_Hydra. _

_Hydra._

_Hydra._

_It was almost easy._

_Nathan Miller had helped her do it—a car overturned on the side of the road, her blood staining the seats._

_She remembers watching plumes of fire erupt from the car, while clutching her father's SHIELD badge._

_It was almost easy._

_Almost.)_

"A lot of people believe in you," Coulson murmurs. "They've been believing in you since before you joined SHIELD."

"They believed in my father, not me," she says fervently. "Coulson, I was _sixteen."_

"Well, I believed in you from the start," he implores. "Does that not count for something?"

_It does, but—_

"What does this have to do with Bellamy?" Clarke asks.

"I'm just saying, Clarke," he sighs. "You are better than this."

* * *

_Perfect._

_Perfect._

Clarke watches the agents practice the routine with which they'll save the Inhuman Charles Hinton, whose touch would show one the future—and a vision of death. It was all supposed to go down at this specific building, Transia Corporation. Coulson declared that Daisy couldn't go, seeing as it was probable that the death she saw was her own.

"Too bad they're using the training room," Bellamy says, appearing beside her. "I would've liked to practice."

_And I would've liked to snap your neck._

"What are they even doing?" he asks, his breath warm along Clarke's neck.

"Rehearsing a mission," she says tersely. "Because they saw the future, and they saw that they got their asses kicked. So now they're trying to fix that."

She glances at Bellamy now, reading his expression. He just watches as May walks out and closes the door.

"Whenever you're ready, May!" Daisy calls.

The door is suddenly kicked open, and within seconds, May's got everyone else dominated, hurling a rubber knife at the alarm just at the last second on Daisy's time limit, and Lincoln catches the blade.

Daisy grins at everyone in turn, even Bellamy. "That was pretty damn good."

Clarke feels a strange flutter in her chest, nervous anticipation. They're going to change the future, despite Fitz's protests that it's all fixed.

_It would be better if I could just change the past instead._

* * *

They're all walking down a hallway, talking amongst themselves, when an alarm starts to blare.

"Uh, what does that mean?" Lincoln Campbell says nervously, looking up. Clarke notices the slight relief in Bellamy's eyes, at the prospect of not being the only one unaccustomed to SHIELD protocol.

"Intruder," Coulson, says, reaching for his gun. Clarke carefully fastens the bracelets wired to her batons, watches them turn invisible against her pale skin. Bellamy's eyes trace over her hands as she twirls the batons with her fingers.

The door opens, and Clarke is greeted by a familiar sight—Andrew Garner.

She hears May's breath catch at the sight of her ex-husband—the man who could turn into a monster destined to murder Inhumans.

"He just walked in, sir, and surrendered himself," a guard says to Coulson, whose mouth is set in a tight line of worry.

He says he's about to turn for the last time. Andrew Garner, the kind psychologist assigned to their SHIELD unit, is about to be gone forever, leaving only a monster behind. Clarke's suddenly glad that Octavia isn't here at the moment.

"May," Coulson says, his voice achingly gentle, in the way it only is whenever he talks to May. "You have to stay with him."

"That man is a _killer," _she murmurs, shaking slightly. Clarke's never seen her so unhinged. Only Bellamy looks unfazed by her behavior.

"No. Not Andrew. He loves you."

"May," Clarke says tentatively, touching her shoulder. "He needs you."

"Okay. May, you go with him," Coulson says decisively. 

"Hell, no!" she snaps. "I have to do this?"

"It's okay, May, I'll do it," Daisy interjects immediately, but she's met with a torrent of protests.

"Guys, seriously," Daisy implores. "Without Bobbi, and with Octavia training the other Inhumans, I'm the only one—"

"You're not," Clarke cuts in. "Coulson. I can go. I watched the routine, I'm just about as fast as May—"

_"You're _training Bellamy!" Daisy reminds her. "You can't—"

"Will _someone _please tell me why it's so important that I stay glued to his side at all times?" Clarke asks angrily. "Someone else can do it, but we _can't _put you at risk, Daisy!"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Daisy's right," Coulson says softly. "Clarke, you're staying."

Clarke stares at him in disbelief, then turns to glare at Bellamy. "Let's take him," she spits venomously.

"Clarke, we can't—" Lincoln says.

"He's been here _two _days—" Fitz adds.

"I have no idea what the hell—" Bellamy splutters.

"I'll stay with him, but the best way to learn is to put him in the field," Clarke reasons, trying to keep her voice even.

"Not with a mission as delicate as this," Coulson murmurs. "We don't understand what we're dealing with—"

"Hydra," Clarke hisses. "Do you remember my first mission, sir?"

"Your first mission was a failure," Daisy says, looking like she's trying not to offend Clarke but her heart isn't really in it. "You didn't kill him."

"I _would've," _Clarke says fiercely. 

"Killed who?" Bellamy asks.

"Shut up," Fitz and Clarke say at the same time, and surprisingly, Bellamy does.

"Please, Coulson," she asks. "I have to get off the base. In fact, Daisy shouldn't even go—"

"I'm the only one who can," Daisy interjects, her mouth set in a slightly childish pout.

"Daisy, you're not unstoppable," Coulson says softly.

"I'm willing to put that to the test," she says.

"And test Fitz's theory that all of this will happen just as you envisioned it?" Clarke asks in disbelief.

"Clarke, I can do this," Daisy begs, putting her hand on Clarke's shoulder. She unintentionally sends a few harmless quakes down Clarke's arm. "I am meant to save Charles Hinton."

"Let me come with you," Clarke whispers, staring into her warm brown eyes. "Please."

The two girls glance at Coulson, who stares blankly for a second before sighing and relenting.

* * *

_"The assault team will remain on the Quinjet unless needed. Fitz will tap the Transia building's security feeds to get eyes on you," _Coulson says, his voice encompassing Clarke's brain as it flows into her ear through her earpiece. She's currently tossing guns and ICErs to everyone on the mission, saving Bellamy for last.

"The one with the blue-tipped barrel only knocks people out, but functions the same as a gun," Clarke explains. "And you remember how I taught you to hold it, right?"

He nods, looking faintly green.

_"Can you find the security office?" _Coulson asks, talking to Fitz. All comms have been left open at the moment.

_"Wait," _Jemma says.

_"Is that Giyera?" _Fitz asks in a small voice, and Clarke shudders at the memory of the telekinetic Inhuman who tortured her at Gideon Malick's command just a few weeks prior.

_"That's him," _Simmons confirms, somewhat sullenly. _"I'd know his face anywhere."_

There's more quiet conversation, but Coulson and Fitz-Simmons fall suddenly silent.

"Everything okay?" Clarke asks, her fingers hovering by her earpiece.

_"Was that Ward?" _Fitz breathes, his voice shaking, and Clarke feels her blood turn to ice in her veins. Even Bellamy stiffens.

"Grant Ward?" he asks. "The dead Grant Ward? That Coulson killed?"

_"Unfortunately, I think that's something else," _Simmons says nervously. _"The thing that killed... that killed Will."_

"Okay, you're kidding," Clarke says. "You're telling me that the ancient Inhuman that Hydra has been trying to bring to Earth for centuries has inhabited the body, the _corpse _of Grant Ward?"

_"Hey. Maybe I'll get to kill him again," _Coulson says, almost cheerfully.

* * *

"You're staying with me," Clarke says firmly, putting her hand on Bellamy's wrist. She feels him tense under her touch, but he waits a full five seconds before pushing her fingers off. 

She watches him for a moment before asking, "Are you scared?"

"Were you?" he asks, and surprisingly there's no venom in his voice. "Your first mission?"

Clarke has to think about that for a moment before shaking her head. "No. I was too angry my first mission to be anything else."

"That's because you had personal stakes in it, I'm guessing," he mutters. "I have no idea what we're doing."

"This is personal for you, too," Clarke tells him. "We don't do this, Octavia will be hunted her whole life. Is that what you want?"

His throat bobs. "Tell me what's going on with Grant Ward."

"This is just my theory," Clarke starts. "But Simmons was taken to another planet through a portal a while ago. After we rescued her, she eventually told us about this, this _thing, _this monster. We didn't know what it was, but we know it can inhabit dead bodies."

"You think the monster is inhabiting his body?" Bellamy asks softly, brushing his fingers over the seatbelt. "Ward died on that planet, I'm guessing."

"You guessed right," she murmurs.

A shudder goes through him. "So we have _no _idea what we're up against."

Clarke sighs softly. "We never do."

* * *

At some point, Coulson shows up.

An alarm is blaring loudly in Clarke's ears, and she's got a hand under Bellamy's chin as she inspects the stream of blood pouring down the side of his face. She's close enough to count the freckles on his face, but it would probably take all day to actually do that.

"Ward was here, on the twentieth floor," Coulson says, breaking her out of her trance. "Clarke and Bellamy, I want you to go with Lincoln, work your way up. I'll take the elevator and work down.

"Got it," Clarke murmurs, gently probing Bellamy's face. "It's not deep. How's everything else?"

"A little bruised," he breathes. "Please tell me you weren't sent into your first mission with _two _days of combat training."

"Get up," she sighs, tugging at his arm.

"That wasn't an answer," Bellamy replies sullenly as he gets to his feet and grips his gun tightly.

"Lincoln," Clarke calls. "You good?"

"I think so," he says softly, giving Bellamy a quick glance. "Is _he?" _

"Mostly," she mutters, starting to move. "Come on. We've got a lot of floors to cover."

* * *

_"Lincoln, do you read?"_

Clarke's head is spinning. She thinks her leg is broken.

_"All units, stop!" _Coulson continues to shout into comms. _"Lincoln, where are you?"_

"I have eyes on Ward," Lincoln says softly from beside her.

"Lincoln, no," Clarke moans weakly, before lifting her chin. She sees the shadowy figure of Ward in the distance, and she remembers—

_("Wells," she whispered. "Wells, don't tell him anything."_

_"You two are putting your faith in the wrong side," Ward said, almost softly, and she flinched at the sound of his finger squeezing the trigger, the barrel digging into her head. "You do understand that we'll win, right?"_

_"Go to hell," Clarke whispered, while staring into Wells's eyes._

It's okay, _she wanted to say. _I'll be okay.

_"Come on, Jaha," Ward said. "You speak, and I'll let her live."_

_She saw tears shining in Wells's eyes—Wells, who never, ever cried._

_"No," he said. "I won't."_

_There was a shot, but Clarke didn't feel a sudden flash of pain, didn't see a sudden, blinding light._

_All she saw was a small red dot the size of a nickel on Wells's forehead, all she heard was his body hitting the floor._

_Wells._

_Wells.)_

_"Lincoln, do not engage," _Coulson implores. _"We don't know what we're dealing with here. Pull out, now."_

"Clarke, let's go," Bellamy says hurriedly, as he helps Lincoln to his feet, watching Ward walk away. There's an odd look in his eyes, something eerily like recognition. 

"I can't," she whispers. 

"Clarke, _come on."_

She raises herself to her elbows, her body shaking.

_Wells._

"I'll kill him," she whispers.

"The _hell _you will!" Lincoln hisses. "Clarke, you—your leg—"

She glances down, sees her leg sticking out at an odd angle beneath her. But right now, she can barely feel it—she can only feel a gun against her head and she can only remember Wells.

There's something wet running down her face and her hands. Blood, maybe.

_Wells._

"She's going into shock," she hears Lincoln say softly, and suddenly hands are gripping her shoulders. There are blue sparks dancing in Lincoln's eyes, just a shade lighter than his irises. Or maybe the sparks aren't there at all. She isn't sure.

"Clarke, can you stand?" he asks, his voice gentle. "Clarke, please—"

She pushes to her feet, and yelps a little as waves of agony slam into her, cutting through her daze. 

_Bellamy._

She sees him staring at where Ward had just been with an unreadable expression on his face, and she feels like someone just poured a bucket of ice-cold water over her head. Her hands are shaking and her brain is spinning with a thousand thoughts, memories of Wells and Ward, and now one important question as she regards Bellamy.

_Who are you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay yeah so i know the timeline is gonna be a shit ton different than the actual episodes for those of you who have watched AoS and are wondering what the hell i'm doing. i know what i'm doing.
> 
> as for those wonderful people who have given this a chance even if they haven't seen SHIELD, please PLEASE comment if there's something you don't understand. i'm worried that everything's getting mixed up because i have rewatched this show like five times and i may slip up in terms of describing things.
> 
> i love you all! comments and kudos are always welcome!!

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos give me life so keep em coming boys


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